


Books and Lies - The Beginnings of a Cannibal

by Justine B Beigel (jadencross)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadencross/pseuds/Justine%20B%20Beigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had to write a story as an introduction for a class. It had to be an untrue story, but it still says something about me. I don't have any particular reason to post this except that my writing style was so weird and poetic it kinda threw me off. </p>
<p>Anyway, this is the only slightly fake story about how I attacked a girl in daycare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Books and Lies - The Beginnings of a Cannibal

It was a bitterly cold morning, the springtime had not yet fully awoken, and sleep still crusted the lids of my small, four-year-old eyes. Mom had only recently gone back to work, and she still found it hard to tell me goodbye in the mornings when she dropped me off at the daycare, even more so now that my younger brother had only just recently been joining me; he was in the Infant Room, whereas I roamed the large expanse of carpet known as the Preschool Room.

 

I would never have called myself a friendly person, but I did tend to have a few friends that I would galavant and raise a ruckus with. The others tended to be afraid of me, though I never figured out why until, upon reaching the age of seventeen, I thought back and realized that I threw tantrums out of boredom almost constantly, so those who called me a friend would have to have had a smaller interest in self preservation. 

 

There was, however, a girl—her name was forgotten before I even learned it partly because I didn’t care what she was called, and partly out of spite—who hadn’t seen a full-blown tantrum of mine (or maybe she thought she was just as tough as me and wasn’t afraid). She was new; her parents had only recently relocated here from Texas, and she thought she could do whatever she wanted. She had decided that she would exercise this supposed power over the other children by biting them. Many kids would complain to the proper authorities, but no matter how many times the teachers and her parents got on to her, she never seemed to care, and would bite another squishy child the next day.

 

On this particularly cold and dark morning, she decided that I would be her newest target. 

 

It was a decision I was quick to make her regret.

 

I had only been there for an hour; Mom’s kisses had faded from my cheeks, and the building blocks in the far corner of the room held my steadfast attention. I hardly noticed when the new girl when she came up to sit next to me. She touched a few of my blocks (which in no way sat well with me, but my brother’s new residency in the room next to mine and his untimely crying made me a bit more sedated than normal), and we began to play parallel games with the same set. 

 

At some point I became irritated; she had been taking the big blue ones that I wanted for the base of my tower in order to place them on top of hers which was incorrect you stupid idiot the big ones have to go on the bottom don’t you know how building works—? I had told her numerous times to stop taking from my pile and using them for structurally unsound building practices, and she had retaliated that it was her tower and she could build it however she liked. 

 

An exchange occurred—predominantly verbal at the start—and it ended with her sinking her teeth into my arm.

 

By this point, I was livid. I had never been known for my great anger-management skills (until the emotional uprising that was sixth grade but that has no effect on the story so forget I mentioned it), but I had a brand-new baby brother who Mom had told me would look up to me and try to be like me. I, being the scholarly four-year-old I was, realized that someday he would be taller than me, and that I probably wouldn’t want someone bigger beating me up. Because of my new sibling, I refrained from my first instinct, which was to beat the life out of her (or maybe just the frosted animal crackers that I had seen her eat this morning god what an animal why does she eat dessert for breakfast wouldn’t you want to  _ save those for lunch _ —), and instead opted for just putting my mouth very close to her ear and screaming. 

 

She released her fingerless grip, as one would, and jumped back. I saw the teachers out of the corner of my eye, but they seemed to just be gearing themselves to call the girl’s parents again (everyone was sleepy that day, though I’m not quite sure why), but I saw the tiny wheels in that hamster-driven brain of hers begin to move. She was planning on a to blame it on me (I didn’t exactly have a good reputation at being a good kid, either). 

 

There were many things I didn’t like, and taking the blame for something I didn’t do was at the top of the list. There was no way in heaven or this tiny daycare that I would let a Texan hellian blame me for biting her when I knew she had teeth like a vampire. She thought she had too much power; she thought she could do anything she wanted, and nothing that anyone said or did would make her learn her lesson.

 

I suppose the reason I decided on that course of action that I did is the same reason why I’m here at Mizzou to major in Education: I have always thought myself to be a  _ very _ good teacher. 

 

I, upon realizing that she nothing would happen to right the injustice done to me, decided to take matters into my own hands—or rather, teeth. I clamped my jaw down tightly on her scrawny little arm, the sound of her screaming from the pain as the sharp, unworn teeth of a four-year-old injecting sweet, bloodthirsty vengeance into the tissue of her tender skin music to my heartless ears. She tried to push me off, but the more she pushed against me the harder my jaw clamped down. By the time the teachers were by us, I had bit into her skin.

 

At some point, I had moved my hands onto her arm, my fingers surely leaving my fingerprints as bruises. When the teachers found they couldn’t convince me verbally to remove my mouth from the holligan I had between my teeth, they decided that a more physically route had to be taken. 

 

One of the older men (his name eludes me, but I remember him having brown hair and dimples when he smiled and the ability to pick up whole tables by himself and not sweat a drop) figured his best bet was to put it muscles to use and to pull me off the other girl. I guess he underestimated the stubbornness of a four-year-old girl who had had very little sleep the night before and nothing left to lose, because when he pried me off the other girl, I heard immediate distress for everyone present (except myself, as I had a very odd sense of satisfaction) when parts of her came with me.

 

The next little bit I don’t particularly recall in the most detail, but I just know that it was grotesque and at least three people were crying. 

 

The next thing I can clearly recall is the phone call with my mom where she said that what I had done was not exactly one of the best executed plans of justice, but that she approved of my motives. She had to leave her work at the hospital early to come get me, though, and she wasn’t exactly happy about that. 

 

I was never really reprimanded for my display of gorey justice; in a way, I was actually rewarded because the girl never came back to that daycare and everyone gave me a wide walkway anytime I wanted to go somewhere (an occurrence I sorely missed when I moved from Columbia to Marshfield, where the only thing people knew about me there was that I was the only one heavy enough to launch the smaller kids into the air using the teeter-totter).

 

Now that I’ve returned to the town of the incident after 11 long years, I don’t think I’m particularly hungry for revenge anymore. 

  
However, the urge may arise someday. I wonder if that person will taste as sweet as she did?


End file.
